


Highland Philosophy

by RoseRose



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Highlander: The Series, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Duncan is confused, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Immortals, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseRose/pseuds/RoseRose
Summary: 200 years after meeting Bran, Duncan sees him on a crowded street, but doesn't feel an Immortal buzz. He is very confused.200 years later, he is still confused.





	Highland Philosophy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, VTHX.
> 
> This should hopefully be readable for a fan of either fandom, though there will be some confusion, especially for Highlander fans unfamiliar with the Mercy Thompson fandom.
> 
> This is my first fic in either of these two fandoms. Hope you enjoy!

“You don't  _ feel _ like an Immortal.” Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was vaguely incredulous. For Bran to have been an Immortal old enough for Duncan to have known as a mortal there should have been some sign. True, in all his years, he'd never even heard whispers of Bran being in the Game, but clearly he was if he was alive here and now, two hundred years after they had first met, before Duncan's first death.

 

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio/ Than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” Bran's quote sounded exactly how he remembered English sounding in his earliest memories, but gave nothing resembling answers to Duncan's question. Bran then said something in a language that sounded similar to the Scottish Gaelic Duncan had grown up with, but not quite close enough for him to understand. A bit of thought had Duncan recognizing the language as Welsh, or at least very similar. It didn't quite sound like the Welsh he had heard travelling through England.

 

“What do you mean, more things? What are you?!” Duncan's voice grew harsh with the effort to keep from shouting and making a scene on the crowded street.

 

Bran grinned, looking all of twenty years old. “I'm a bard.”

 

“Two hundred years ago you were a bard. What kind of bard looks the same two hundred years later?”

 

“I might ask what kind of Highlander looks no older than thirty after the same amount of time.” Bran bounced on his heels, still giving off the impression of an overly eager lad.

 

“Stop with these non-answers! Tell me what you are!” Duncan was starting to gather attention so he visibly calmed himself, but still sent a glare at Bran.

 

Bran laughed. “Maybe you'll find out someday, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” With that, Bran slipped into the crowd with uncanny speed, Duncan unable to follow his path.

 

Nearly two hundred years later, Duncan is reminded of Bran's statement when the fae come out to the public. He remembers the stories he was told as a child in the Highlands, though, and in his memories, Bran doesn't seem to match with any of the fae he knows tales of, Seelie or Unseelie Court. Given this news, though, he at least knows that someone could be as old as him and not an Immortal. Still dangerous, though. No matter how harmless that little garden sprite, Kieran, made himself seem on TV, Duncan knew the old stories. Now that he knew how true they were, he was going to be even more careful.

 

Suddenly, Duncan laughed. It's good he's alone, because he doubted he could explain to anyone what he found funny. While most of the stories he was told as a child came from his granny, there were several told by a travelling bard. Bran himself had given stories about the fae, and given what he just learned, he was going to take those stories to heart. Certainly they would be more accurate than the prettied-up fairy tales that had come to the fore recently. Given that so many of the stories he heard were from Bran, maybe he had just never heard of the kind of fae he was. Maybe if he had time, he would check.

 

While visiting the Tri-Cities a few years later, a folk singer at the Tumbleweed festival reminded him of Bran. He never had time for the research to figure out what Bran might be. Not that long previously, werewolves had come out as existing. A werewolf was a possibility, but he wasn't sure. Those, he didn't have as much context for, as they were not present in his granny's stories, or Bran's, and popular culture had seemed to get everything wrong based on the little known. Duncan could tell that much was being left out, but he had no idea what that might be.

 

The singer was billed as a Celtic folk singer, and his pronunciation sounded exactly like those unknown words Bran had spoken over a hundred years previously. There was also something about the way the singer looked that reminded him of Bran. He wasn't sure, and after so much time, almost everyone reminded him of someone else. Duncan was intrigued, and wanted to know more. Maybe the singer would have some answers. Still, Duncan couldn't stay. Despite his curiosity, Duncan wasn't able to stick around to ask. Washington held too many memories for him. The Tri-Cities was the closest to Seacouver he was willing to come, but it was still too close for him at this point. He'd tried. It would be a while before he'd come to Washington again.

 

Deciding to take a long cross country drive, something he'd missed while in France, two weeks later Duncan found himself somehow in the small town of Aspen Creek, Montana. It was far off the main road, which was what he needed. A break from civilization was doing him good, so this town, so far off the highway was exactly where he wanted to be. It was about time to take a break from driving and get some sleep, so he went to the hotel. After checking in with the extremely unfriendly clerk, giving his name as Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, he settled in to the room for the night. Just as he was kicking back to watch some television, there was a knock at the door.

 

Duncan opened it up to see Bran. Duncan bit back a gasp. “I didn't expect to run into you again.” Duncan's voice was carefully measured. He didn't want to give away any more than necessary. He may not know what Bran was, but anything that lived as long as Bran had clearly could be dangerous. And tonight, instead of looking like a boy, Bran looked like a dangerous man. He would not want to face a challenge from someone who looked like Bran tonight.

 

“Ah, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. How nice to see you again.” Bran's voice held a slightly mocking lilt that actually reminded Duncan of the bards of his childhood, though actually not Bran himself, as Bran had never mocked him as a bard, both nostalgic and jarring at the same time.

 

“Bran Cornick. I haven't seen you in two hundred years-again.” Duncan could do calm, and even add a bit of a sarcastic twist.

 

“What brings the Highlander to Aspen Creek?” Bran let the smugness seep into his voice, letting Duncan know that he was behind in the knowledge game. Not only did Bran know his name, he clearly had knowledge about Immortals and the Game.

 

“Just passing through.” While Duncan was well practiced at hiding his tells, he got the feeling that no matter what he did, Bran was seeing right through him. Bran gave Duncan a final look up and down.

 

“As long as that is all you do, Highlander, you can stay the night. Just remember, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Aspen Creek is  _ mine _ . You will not make a Challenge here, no matter who you find.” With that, Bran vanished into the night.

 

Duncan slept poorly that night. He woke early, and while he felt a buzz as he was driving out of town, the warning in his ears kept him driving rather than stopping to investigate. He figured it was probably someone he knew, but he did not want to stay in town any longer. Bran was clearly dangerous, possibly someone out of his granny's old stories, maybe even Bran's own, and not worth messing with.

 

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod continued to wonder who Bran was. Perhaps one day he would find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline:
> 
> First section: 1790s
> 
> Second section: 1980s (Based on Moon Called's line about when the fae came out)
> 
> Tumbleweed section: During Iron Kissed
> 
> Last section: After Iron Kissed


End file.
